


And All My Fears Turned To Rage

by Lilsciencequeen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Episode 6.06 Spoilers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen
Summary: The music box had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. It had always been there, the ballerina protecting her from the worries nestled within it, so when it breaks open, things appear, things she had long since buried.// A fic exploring Jemma and her music box in 6.06





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can you guess I loved 6.06?

“And when you’re worried, or scared, imagine the worries as something to put away, little monsters or little bits of paper or whatever you want, and put them in this okay?” He passed her the music box over, something that had once belonged to her grandmother and had now been passed down to her. “A place to store them so they’re not on your mind and upsetting you. A place where they can’t hurt you.”

She stared down at the music box in her hands, now much larger now that she was holding it. It was heavy too, heavier than she was expecting. Turning it over in her hands, she found the key, stiff as she turned it the first few times but soon loosening up. Nothing happened, but she discovered the latch was still closed, and unlocking it, the lid flipped up and in it was a ballerina, small and dainty and blonde, spinning round and round as a tune played gently in the background.

“And this will mean they can’t hurt me anymore?” She looked up at her father earnestly, eyes wide as she took in everything about him, trying to find the similar features they shared but unable too at such a young age.

He nodded, taking it from her and setting it between them. “I’ll show you how you do it. Think of something. Anything that scares you. Hurts you. Makes you feel angry. But don’t tell me okay. Keep it in your mind and focus on that.”

A few things came to her mind, but the one that scared her the most was school. All the other kids there. The ones that were much older than her. Bigger than her. The ones that liked to tease her because of how smart she was, how small she was. It hurt and her parents tried to help, but there was little that was to be done in the school at the moment. So she just had to suffer the pain, the teasing, the taunting.

“Is it there?” he asked, and once she nodded he gave her the rest of the instructions. “Okay, now close your eyes, and imagine it going in the box. Being hidden there were it can’t hurt you. Not anymore. Is it in there?”

When she nodded again, she heard the faint click of the lock and the music stopping. “You can open them again.”

Her father was smiling at her. “When you’re scared or sad, imagine things going into the box. You can open it and close it, or you can imagine it, and they’re all locked away. And the ballerina…”

“She’ll keep them hidden away?”

He nodded. “She’ll protect you.

***

Over the years, more and more things went into the music box.

Nightmares about school.

The monsters under her bed.

The homesickness that came from moving to America alone at 16.

Tiny things, that with time, she managed to move past, things that no longer became scary with age and experience, things that seemed so... childish as she grew up. 

But soon, the things that got moved into the box were much worse than those childish fears. Soon the imaginary monsters under the bed became real monsters she had faced.

Falling through the clouds, a literal ticking time that could have blown her friends out of the air.

Nearly drowning and carrying her best friend, half dead from the bottom of the ocean to the surface.

Being swept off to a distant planet, having to survive six months with no sunlight and being constantly hunted.

Waking up buried alive, surrounded by rotted corpse after rotted corpse, unable to breathe as dirt filled her lungs.

Becoming a silent slave to an alien dictator, decades in the future, unable to do anything out of fear of being killed.

Losing her husband, her best friend, and the most unbearable pain she had ever known.

She put it all in there.

Hiding it from the others.

Hiding it from _herself_.

It was better off in there she told herself, no point telling others about it when they already had so much to deal with. No need to burden them when they were already struggling with so much. They had their own problems, fears, worries. Pain. And adding on to that, it would do no one any good. So she kept it to herself. Kept putting it into the box.

More and more things building up in it, squeezing into every space that they could.

Until the box was fit to burst.

And even then she forced more into it.

There was no time to deal with all these feelings, all these worries. All this pain.  There were so many other matters, so many more things that had to be dealt with, and anyway, hadn’t most of the issues been resolved?

The virus… Fitz had saved her, helped her find a cure. She hadn’t died. Hadn’t taken the team out with her, so really, what was there to worry about?

Nearly drowning… there had been Fitz to worry about and his recovery. He had come off worse than she did. All she had was the occasional nightmare. She didn’t have brain damage. And over time, the nightmares faded, bodies of water didn’t even scare her anymore. Fitz recovered, and things had fell back into place.

Maveth… there had Will to worry about and Hive, and not the pain she suffered. The world was at stake… and that was much more important. Will may have been lost, never to return home but they had saved the world, had stopped Hive.

Being buried alive… it was only a few minutes under less than 2 foot of dirt. She had been able climb out, and the corpses around her, nothing more than zeros and ones. A computer simulation. They weren’t friends, family, people she knew, so why should that be something that was on her mind at all times? And the Framework itself had been dismantled, destroyed, with yet another crisis adverted.

The future… the slavery. She had gotten her revenge. She had been able to free herself and the others from that horror and she wasn’t there long. A few days. It had just been a simple game of keeping on his good side until she had the chance to escape. She hadn’t spent her whole life living that way.

Losing Fitz… That had been the hardest, the one where she had no idea what was happening at first. The one where she was truly lost because she knew that she had to find him because he was out there. He had to be.

So again, that went into the music box. The pain. Because if she gave into it, allowed it to take hold, flow through her veins and fill her being, it would have destroyed her. It would have taken time, and there was no time to mourn. She had to find him.

That was all that had mattered.

That’s what was important, and after a year, now he was here with her now.

Maybe not the way she had planned.

But he was here.

And they were together.

And so long, too long.

But things were going wrong. She hadn’t been able to tell him what he had missed, what had happened. She hadn’t been able to explain it the way that she had wanted, in a way that would be calm, peaceful.

No, he had seen it in her memories. He had lived the pain she had lived with, the pain that she had buried away in a music box.

He had seen his death.

Seen he got married.

It had hurt him too, caused him to spiral. Caused him to panic, to worry. Caused the Doctor to come, to want them. To shoot at them. And they were trapped here, in this mind prison, in this hell-scape until they worked out what was going on. It was all too much.

And now sitting here, trapped in her own mind, in her childhood bedroom, she took a panic attack, clutching a pillow, it all came flooding back. Everything she had been through. All the pain she had tried to suffer filled her very being, all her worries gnawing at her, a sensation she had tried to bury for so very long now she forgot what it was like to live without doing that.

The dam broke and everything came flooding out.

She vaguely heard Fitz, and making her way to him, she saw that the music box was dancing on the table, something inside it fighting to get out. And once it fell, the lid opening, the lights in the room crackled and died. Something bad was happening. Something really bad.

The tune was a haunting melody, one she hadn’t heard in years because it hadn’t been opened since that conversation she had had with her father (why would she open it when everything bad was hiding in it?) and as soon as that died, fading into the background she saw it. The figure on the ground, slowly rising, raising their head, and when they did, she saw that it was…

Herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is written from the perspective of ID Jemma so isn't as structured as the previous chapter was and the writing style is completely different. 
> 
> There is also mentions of the... heart scene in this chapter so just a lil warning for blood and violence.

It was dark in the box.

It was always dark.

It was never opened.

Forever remaining closed.

No light ever came in.

But the thoughts did.

The worries did.

One after the other.

Piling on top of one another.

Merging with another.

All the pain.

All the trauma.

All the hurt.

It all started to mix, festering into one.

The fear of death.

Drowning.

Living alone on a desert planet.

Being buried alive.

Losing the person that mattered to her the most.

Everything that she had went through, everything that she had suffered, all that had been said to her and all she had experienced, it was all put into the box

It all went into the box and was ignored, the feelings, the emotions never looked at again. And it just made her grow more powerful, more dangerous.

More scared.

Everything that was in here was made from pain and hurt.

The traumas that she had been through but was ignored and after years and years and years of waiting, of being locked away and ignored, she was finally, finally free.

And being free… it felt good. Standing up, stretching out her body, enjoying how it felt to stretch out, to open up, she looked up, taking in where she was. It was her childhood bedroom, instantly recognisable even thought it was dark. Because this was the place where she had been born, the place where she had first started to take shape. And standing there, in front of her… _She_ was there, looking terrified, scared, wandering why she had escaped, why everything _She_ had repressed and locked away was now standing in front of her, free. 

And beside her was standing…

Yes… the one that she wanted.  

 _He_ was there.

***

There was something... _delightful_ about hearing him scream as she dragged the knife through his torso, flesh and muscle and tissue catching every so often as the knife was too blunt to be that effective.

He was begging her to stop, telling her that she didn’t have to do this.

But she did.

He had to know the pain that he caused.

The hurt that she had endured.

He had to know what it was like for someone who you loved very much to cause the worst kind of hurt. For them to rip your heart out. So she had to show him?

Isn’t that what started all of this?

Fitz showing her his feelings for her instead of just telling her? Sacrificing himself so that she could live… Leaving her with the memories of dragging his body up from the bottom of the ocean, his last words ringing in her mind.

And the guilt that came with not being good enough was worse.

The guilt of not being good enough.

Of causing him pain.

That, with everything else she had ever suffered, ever felt (most of it associated with him) had all merged together in the box, with only a ballerina for company into this.

And he had to know the pain that she was suffering.

The pain that she was made off.

He had too.

So she had to rip his heart out, show him what it was like to lose what mattered most.

“Simmons, hey Jemma… please please stop…” His words were lost due to his scream, the knife being pulled out of chest causing him pain. Dropping it on the ground, she reached forward, putting her hand into his chest, his blood warm as it ran over her hand.

Though she had a good knowledge of how the human body worked, how all the organs interacted to keep a person alive, but it still felt odd to stick her hand into a chest where the lungs were still inflating and deflating, where blood was still attempting to flow through vessels and arties that hadn’t been torn apart.

There was so much blood, but she had to reach in, had to find it, and ignoring his cries of pain as she worsened his wound (not accidentally either), and she continued to search, looking for the one thing that she wanted. The one thing she _needed_ and then…

_There._

That was it.

His heart.

The thing she had been looking for.

Grabbing it, she squeezed hard and then pulled, tugging and tugging and tugging until it torn away from the arteries and veins that connected it to the rest of his body, pulling it from his chest. It took effort but she kept trying until she felt it give, and sliding her hand from his chest she grinned at him, feeling the thing that once gave him life, once gave her love. And in her hand, she felt the last few trembling beats that it gave. But now… now it was hers.

 And he knew how she felt. He knew the suffering that she had gone through.

“You said this was mine.” She leaned down, showing him what she had, showing him that she had won. She had beat him.

He screamed. His voice loud as he took in what she was holding in her hand. Taking in the heart that should be in his chest, pumping blood, keeping him alive.

Staggering off, she couldn’t take her eyes of the organ, no longer beating, but she had it. She had his heart. It was hers now and forever.

Smiling down at it, everything was fine until the gun shot went off.

Looking up, she saw that Mack was there and aiming the gun at her then…

Pain.

***

He was in there.

He was in there hiding from her.

Wanting to get away from her.

He was scared of her, terrified of her.

Had ran from her after he had her shot.

She had gotten her revenge on Mack. Made him pay for everything and now, he was her priority once more. She had lost his heart and she wanted it back. _Needed_ it again.

So she walked around and around, waiting, her hand trailing against the containment pod, bloodied streaks being left behind.

And _he_ (not the one that she wanted but one that was close enough if she had to hurt him, she would nothing would stop her from making him suffer like she had) was watching her, threatening her. Telling her not to get in the way. Because he wanted them, well, Jemma at least. He wanted to make her suffer. But he wasn’t going to get there first. He wasn’t going to get there before her. So she continued walking, continued circling. Like a shark in the water, waiting for her prey to make a mistake, waiting for them to come out, falling into her trap.

He did the same, wandering back and forth, also waiting for them to leave, also waiting to extract his revenge. But she wasn’t going to let him win, to take this away from her.

No.

She wasn’t going to lose.

Not this time.

He was going to suffer as she had.

He was.

The arguing was faint inside, something that she knew was important, something she knew would cause him to leave. And to come back to her.

As she continued to wait, continued to leave bloodied marks on the containment pod, he stepped back, watching from a distance and she paused, watching him now, wandering what he was doing. His attention was no longer on the Pod, but on her instead. He was watching her, studying her, as if she were something of interest.

She frowned, glaring at him, her head tilted as if she was trying to work something out. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, as if she were so interesting, something to be admired. She laughed to herself, wondering what he could find so interesting about her. Flashing her teeth at him, trying to scare him away, show him that _she_ was in control here, she turned on her heel and wanted to continue her circling but the other version of him, the darker side, The Doctor, grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She turned to him, watching as his gaze wondered up and down her face, resting on her lips for a second too long.

The way he was staring at her, there was something there, something triggering something in the back of her mind.

There was something there.

Something that she had never experienced before.

And before she really knew what was happening, he was dipping his head, his lips meeting hers. It took her back for a second before she was kissing him back, the shotgun-axe clattering to the floor beside her.

This here…

This kissing…

She had never felt anything like it before. Hadn’t known anyone could like her for what she was. But he didn’t seem to care, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.

She let herself fall into it. She had never experienced anything like this, anything other than pain and hurt and anger and death. And now this… this was something new. This was something more. And she liked it. Whatever _this_ was.

She gave into it, kissing him back. And unlike his kissing, deep and passionate, hers was somewhat frenzied, as if she didn’t want to lose this, which was true.

She didn’t.

She didn’t want to lose this.

This here was so much better than losing him.

Than hurting him.

Kissing him was so much better and she wasn’t able to stop. Unable to work out what she wanted to do, she kept grabbing at him, frantically trying everything and anything, wanting to make this last as long as possible.

But he never stopped.

He just gave into her.

Let her take control.

He seemed to enjoy being here with her. Kissing her.

She didn’t scare him.

Repulse him.

Instead, he seemed to enjoy her company. He liked having her here.

And she liked having him here.

He didn’t seem to care what she wanted. In fact, he seemed to fit perfectly with her, the two of them working together.

A bond that worked.

Then she realised what this was.

It was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the writing style worked out, please feel free to let me know. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks for taking the time to read. Your feedback and support means the world to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the final part. It's slightly different from the last ones but I think this is the best way for it to end. I hope that you enjoy!

“A music box?” she asked, staring at what her mother had handed her. Despite its size, it felt heavy in her hand, and she turned it over, examining every aspect of it. Looking at the key, she turned it several times before frowning, wondering where the ballerina was.

Jemma smiled, taking it from her gently and flicked the latch, opening it. And up popped the ballerina, spinning around and around, a gentle tune playing in the background.

Peggy leaned closer, wanting to observe what was happening, fascinated by the music box. Glancing up at her mum with wide eyes, a smile crossed her face. “Who’s it for?”

Jemma laughed, knowing what Peggy was really asking, knowing that her daughter was truly asking could she keep it. “It’s yours. My daddy gave it to me when I was your age, something that came from my grandmother, your great-granny.”

“And now you’re giving it to me?” She seemed confused, wondering why her mother was giving her something so special, so precious. She knew how much her mum loved her father, and now, giving her this special family heirloom.

“It’s yours.”

“What’s it for?” Looking in the box, there wasn’t much space. She wouldn’t be able to put many of her special items in it. Reaching into it, she felt the inside, before touching the top of the ballerina’s head, the delicate figure dancing around and around.

“What do you want to put in it? We can put anything in it.” Jemma leaned in closer to her daughter, smiling at her. “What about your jewellery, you did say you wanted a new jewellery box like Grandma’s.” She set the music box to the side, so that she could brush a lose curl behind her daughter's ear. 

But Peggy shook her head. “No. It’s not… it’s not…” She frowned, staring at it. Something about it was frustrating her, but Jemma didn’t know why. Maybe she felt guilty about taking it. Maybe being told she could actually have it was too much for her and she felt bad taking one of the remaining connections Jemma had to her father. Or maybe she was just thinking, her mind racing faster than she could keep up with. “What did you put in it?”

There was no reply from Jemma for a moment, as she tried to think through her answer, as she tried to best explain to her daughter that all her demons and traumas went into the box. Eventually she settled on something she thought might work best. “My nightmares. Everything that scared me went into the box, and I kept it hidden away.”

“And that’s bad?” Peggy frowned at this, her face screwed up and a mirror image of what her father’s was like when he was deep in thought. “Locking away things that scare you?”

Jemma nodded, reaching over and taking it from Peggy, setting it to the side so that she could have this conversation with her daughter, the one her father really should have had with her when she had been Peggy’s age. “It is. Sometimes, we feel sad or upset and scared, and we can’t help it. Sometimes we feel angry and mad. And Peggy, that’s okay, you understand that? It’s okay to be scared or sad sometimes. But you should talk to me or daddy okay? You should never keep those things to yourself. Even if it's something small that scares you, you talk to me or daddy.”

Peggy nodded in understanding, knowing that her mummy and daddy knew what was best. “I promise mummy.”

“Where you two talking about me?” Fitz asked, leaning against the door frame, a smile on his face.

“We were,” Jemma said, smiling at her husband, taking his presence in. His relaxed stance, how his curls became slightly wild as they continued to grow. The soft blue of his eyes that was filled with love as he took them in. “I was telling Peggy about the music box and how you shouldn’t keep bad feelings all to yourself.”

“Oh yes that,” he agreed, coming into the room and sitting on the bed with them. “You know that we’re here to talk and you can always talk to us. So what else have you two wonderful ladies been up to when I was at work?” Peggy giggled as Fitz pulled her in closer, pulling her onto his lap and holding her close.

“Mummy gave me a music box!” she told him, reaching round and lifted the music box, raising it so that her father could see it. He took it from her, examining it even though he knew what it was already. “I can put stuff in there and keep it safe!”

He smiled at her, knowing what it was and the purpose of it, but acting excited for his daughter. “Well what are you going to put in there?”

“I want to put my stones in it!” she decided on, beaming up at him. “Can we go and get some more! Please!” She was obsessed with collecting little stones when she went out for walks, one that looked interesting and fascinating to her, and they were all over the house; on the fireplace, on dressers, on bookshelves. Just everything about them interested her and collecting them was what she enjoyed so her parents were happy to let her do it (as long as she emptied her pockets before washing her clothes as they didn’t want to have to replace the washing machine once again).

Fitz smiled down at her. “Of course. Mummy and Pesto can come too, yeah?”

Her face lit up at this. “Yes please!” She turned to her mum, dropping the box on the bed beside her. “Can we all go for a walk before dinner? Please please please!”

Jemma laughed, shaking her head and ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Of course, we’ll come. We can make dinner together afterwards. Make some pizza?”

“Yay!” she cheered, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck, already wildly explaining everything she was going to do and find on this walk, Fitz taking it all in his stride.

He lifted her up, carrying her in his arms and leaving the room, but Jemma waited behind for a moment, taking in the music box, the thing that had once held so many bad things, so many traumas and personal hells but now here it was, in her daughter’s room, ready to be passed down and full of things that made her happy. Standing up, she walked across the room with it, setting it on the dresser and giving a soft smile at it, at the ballerina, who may have finished her dance but who ready to keep all the things her daughter loved safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support and comments on this fic, I loved reading them all. It means so much to me!

**Author's Note:**

> This one is going to have 3 parts, and a fic that ties into it, all of which I want to post sometime this week so keep an eye out for that!


End file.
